"neon green"

There was one line on the constantly scrolling marquee
in Times Square that hollered out to me
in a blaring neon green voice every time I walked by.

You smoked your last cigarette on my balcony.
You stood facing the street. I watched you
from inside and wondered how long it would be.

Smoke slipped from your lips, curled upwards
from the balcony and slid towards the sky.
It wasn't very long.

You moved your things out the next weekend.
The neon green letters hollered at me,
"Choose your best self."